Buffalo Bill and the Overland Trail / Being the story of how boy and man worked hard and played hard to blaze the white trail, by wagon train, stage coach and pony express, across the great plains and the mountains beyond, that the American republic might expand and flourish

by Edwin L. Sabin

There were storms, coming up with startling suddenness. One storm, at Cottonwood Springs a hundred miles west of Kearney, Davy never forgot. It was a hail storm. First a mighty cloud of deep purple shot through with violet lightning, swelled over the trail in the west. Emigrants scuttled to secure their wagons, and at Charley’s sharp commands so did the bull train.

“It looks like a twister, boys,” shouted Charley, riding back along the train. “Better corral. I’m afraid for these bulls.”

So the train corralled in a jiffy; and, unyoked, the bulls were driven inside. The tongues were hung in the draw ropes of the wagon covers and the wheels were chained, wagon to wagon. Slickers were jerked out from the wagons and donned; and the men prepared to crawl under the wagon boxes if necessary.

With angry mutter and swollen shape the purple cloud came on at a tremendous pace. The spin-drift of it caught the plain far ahead, and one after another the trains of the emigrants were swallowed in the blackness. When the first gust struck the bull train the touch was icy cold.

“Hail, boys! Hail!” shouted Charley. “Watch the bulls!”

Now sounded a clatter like rain on a sheet-iron roof; and across the landscape of sand and clay, and a cottonwood grove at the mouth of the creek, swept a line of white. The men dived for cover like prairie-dogs whisking into their holes.

Yes, it was hail! Such hail! Driven by a gale the stones, some as large as hickorynuts, and all as large as filberts, lashed the huddled train; whanged against canvas and wagon-box and with dull thuds bounded from the bulls’ backs. Some of the animals shifted uneasily, for the stones stung. The others stood groaning and grunting with discomfort, shaking their heads when a particularly vicious missile landed on an ear. Under the wagons the men were secure; but Dave felt sorry for the poor bulls who turned and sought in vain.

As quickly as it had come the storm passed, leaving the ground white with the hail. Almost before the men had crawled out from underneath their wagons the sun was shining.

The hail had not damaged the bull train to any extent. There were dents in the tough wood where the heavy stones had struck, and several of the wagon sheets, forming the hoods, had been punctured in weak spots; but thanks to Charley’s promptness in corralling, the animals had not stampeded. However, some of the emigrants had not fared so well, because they had not known what to do. After the bull train was yoked up again and was travelling on, it passed two emigrant outfits stalled by the trail, trying to recover their teams which had run away. Many of the flimsy cotton hoods used by the emigrants were riddled into strips.